


The Memories & Scars

by amgicalhat



Series: Original Works/Poetry [22]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, F/M, Scars, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amgicalhat/pseuds/amgicalhat
Summary: People die every day, friends, and family. This is the story of one women’s journey to deal with her pain. How far would you go to take the pain away? How would your family react to this tragic lost?





	1. Painful Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the SAME UNIVERSE AS WFL!

"Sometimes a breakdown can be the beginning of a kind of breakthrough, a way of living in advance through a trauma that prepares you for a future of radical transformation." ~Cherrie Moraga

 

**Painful Memories**

My pain was too much for me to handle.   
It has thawed through the ice I have held since that night.   
Ever since my mother passed away four months ago, I cannot seem to hide my tears or the pain.   
I normally do not cry but it seemed right tonight to do so.   
I finished watching some family videos of her and me in Disneyland when I was only a little girl.   
My father and three brothers are not home, they are too busy with spending money at the football games.   
Ever since mom died, they spend less and less time with me at home.   
My father comes home late at night clumsy and drunk.   
I help him to the bedroom, he does not let go, when I demand him to.  
The disgusted feeling of uncleanness inside is what I walk out of his door.  
I scrub my skin raw but it is not going away.  
Am I too broken to hang around?   
I feel as if a part of me has shriveled away and died when my mom did.   
She was my best friend I could go to for anything.   
We spent hours just talking about everything and anything.   
When I had a question, I always went to her and she always knew the answer.   
Silent tears track down my scarred face I wiped them away careful of my burns.   
I flinched at the pain when my fingers brushed against my burnt left check.   
Memories flashed in front of my eyes and I am back in the car with my mother.   
She is driving down the road as we sing along to the music on the radio.   
We are coming back from my grandmother’s house in Utah, Salt Lake.   
The snow is blinding, my mom is stubborn to stay to pass the storm.   
I vouched to stay at my grans house for another two days since we rarely see her,   
However, my mom said no dad would want us home.   
We are going around the curving road when it happens.   
The radio is blaring.   
We are singing a country song.  
Two coffees are in the middle counsel.   
We are barefoot, covered with blankets from the chill in the car.   
The car is going thirty miles an hour in a fifty-mile road.   
The semi truck collides with the front of the car knocking the car sideways into the mountain.  
I see my mom’s eyes go wide for a moment before they glaze over in fear.   
I am flying.   
There is no sound.   
I never hear my mom scream my name  
Never see the car catching fire; it explodes hitting my left side of my face.   
I never felt the fire burning into my skin or seeing my mom burning.   
Everything is white, it is silent, and I am floating.   
Before I could blink, I am being slammed into my body.   
The pain is there.   
Hovering anxious masked covered faces hover above me.   
Beeping sounds echo around me.   
Tubes and wires are connected to my body.  
I close my eyes and sleep.   
I wake from my coma four weeks later.   
I am informed my mom is dead.   
My brothers blame me,   
My father blames me.   
I blame me.   
One month   
Two months   
Three months passes the world is going on without me,   
The season is changed,   
It is a new year.  
I have no friends; my family is not talking to me no more.   
I keep blinking hoping I will wake up and this is all but a bad dream.   
My pain is a gaping hole of; denial, self hate, depression, and anger.   
I get up off my bed and go into the kitchen.   
There is no food in the house; I am not even looking for food.   
I am looking for something to rid me of my pain.   
The gleam of the sun shines on the clean steak knives and I walk towards them.   
I pick it up, examining it.   
It is sharp as I glide it up and down my arm, and trail it down to my wrist.   
I press it down, hard and drag it across my skin.  
It hurts for only a moment.   
Before it stops and bleeds.   
I am breathing heavily the feeling is amazing.   
My pain is gone for the moment.   
The skin is stretching across my lips for the first time in four months I smile.

 


	2. Swimming Home

_"I believe that life is a journey, often difficult and sometimes incredibly cruel, but we are well equipped for it if only we tap into our talents and gifts and allow them to blossom." ~Les Brown_

 

**Swimming Home**

It has been six years since I began self-harm.   
The pain is dull but still there.   
I discovered if I do not cut with the steak knife every day the pain is back five times more.  
I moved out of my family’s house living in a small apartment in Denver.   
The snow is beautiful but it is very cold.   
Scars are littering my arms and legs; I carve words into my stomach to make myself remember them.   
It works but it hurts,   
In the past five years, I have only had two boyfriends and one best friend.   
It goes well until they figured out I self harm then they leave me just like my father and brothers.   
It makes more pain and depression for me.   
I went to the doctors a few months ago for my depression and she prescribed antidepressants.   
Like pills is the answer to everything.   
Something in the back of my brain asks the same thing about cutting.   
I see a therapist for my depression as well.   
It has been going good until last week she told me she wants to put me in the loony bin.  
I told her no.   
She said yes it is for your own good.   
I said, “Fuck you.” I left her office not looking back.   
I have not gone back since.   
I drink my beer, and vodka with no regret.   
I never leave my house.   
I have not got into a car since I was fifteen with my mother.   
I take the steak knife and slice my arms and legs ten times,   
Let me just say it was bloody when I finished.   
My cell phone rings the next week before bed.   
I rush to my kitchen, take the knife, and cut.   
My father and brothers are dead.   
Murdered.   
My entire fault.   
If I would have just stayed, there maybe I could have saved them.   
I cry,   
Yell,  
Scream in denial.   
This is not happening, not again.   
I cut and cut not noticing all the blood spilling out of my body.   
I am passed caring on what happens to me   
I have no one left.   
Blackness engulfs me.   
I wake up in a white room, scanning my surroundings it seems I am in heaven  
There is a single door with a bard window connected to it.   
Getting up I slowly walk to it and press against the door for a closer look.   
There is a hallway that seems to go on forever, doors are spaced a crossed the wall from my door.   
I see others doing what I am doing.   
Damn my therapist for locking me in a loony bin.   
I walk away from the door, and laid down on my bed, and scream.

_Two years and five months later_

The sky is clear and blue.  
I am driving down the road to the beach, I moved to California for a new start.   
Getting out of that damn loony bin was not easy at all.   
Took me two years to get out after several denials and therapy I finally did it.   
I had five breakdowns the first week I was there.   
I felt betrayed and scared   
I made a friend and met my husband there too.  
I finally figured out my life.  
Stopped cutting, I got over my fear of cars; I have stopped feeling guilty of my family’s deaths.   
The urge to cut myself is strong as ever, I will not lie I take the knife in my hands and run my finger to the point but a hand stops me.   
My husband, who had also been a cutter since he was the same age as me, was abused as a child, cut to take away the pain.   
I am not alone anymore.   
I have support.   
I am loved.   
As long as I have this, I will be fine.   
The pain is there but I can manage it.   
The scars will remain and remind me of who I was and who I am. 


End file.
